


I Heard It through the Grapevine

by jat_sapphire



Series: Cabaret Set [3]
Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 14:05:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16041980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jat_sapphire/pseuds/jat_sapphire
Summary: Bodie makes a decision.  Doyle is determined to get him to change it.





	I Heard It through the Grapevine

**Author's Note:**

> I thank ArwenOak: if she hadn't asked for "This Can't Be Love," I wouldn't have thought to write this.

> _I bet you wonder how I knew_  
>  _'Bout your plans to make me blue  
>  _

Doyle leaned on the door buzzer and wrestled with the handle at the same time, so hard that he only realized Bodie had hit the release when the handle gave and he nearly knocked himself off the front step with the door.

He got himself ungracefully inside and ran like hell up the stairs. Bodie apparently knew that nothing would stop him from getting in and having his say, because the flat door was ajar.  He blasted through, knocking the door flat against the wall and shoving Bodie onto it, shaking him, shouting. “What the hell are you _doing_?  What the _hell_ is in your head?  You half-Irish woodenheaded son of a bitch _prick_!”  And with not a thought for anyone who might pass in the hallway, he shoved his mouth that inch or so up, into Bodie's, and took it, _kill all the women and rape all the men_ , biting at Bodie's tongue, bruising both their lips against Bodie's teeth, driving his hips in over and over, ignoring Bodie's hands on his shoulders trying to push him off and then pulling him in, snaking around to his back and grabbing at his jacket. The gesture of appeasement made Doyle even angrier.  He made a sound like a growl into Bodie's mouth.

After a minute or five, he realised he wasn't even hard, and humping just for dominance implied he didn't have better arguments. He pulled back.  Bodie's grip loosened, and he leaned his head against the door, half smiling and looking like a wet dream with his hair on end and his lips swollen.  He licked them, slowly, and Doyle groaned.  He could no more help kissing Bodie then, than he could have flown out the window.  His lips were so soft, his taste was like sake—hot, intoxicating, exotic—and his hands were in Doyle's hair, a touch that was quickly becoming Doyle's favourite foreplay.

 He tore his lips from Bodie's because the reason he was here was too important to get this distracted. He took a few breaths while he regrouped, while Bodie mouthed his hairline.  It wasn't getting easier.  Doyle closed his eyes, and his voice was strained, strung between rage and desire.  “You want _re-teamed?_ ” 

“Yes,” Bodie murmured against his skin.

> _With some other guy you knew before_  
>  _Between the two of us guys, you know I love you more_  
>  _It took me by surprise, I must say_

__  
  


He hadn't known what to think, at the safe house, when he looked around for Bodie and didn't find him.

There was work to do in Records, about who the dead man was and what his connections were. There was another interrogation of Pat, who clearly knew more than he'd said even when speaking at great length.  It was a method of lying Doyle had seen before, but he had to give Pat points for pulling it off.  There were Donovan and Morris to think of, and in fact they’d been given some kind of drug, stuck in the neck, one after another, both left sitting up in the car seats like dummies.  Bodie might be working on any of that, but it was strange that he hadn't told Doyle where he was off to.  Cowley should know.

He had known—more than Doyle did, anyway. Bodie had come to Cowley's office to ask to be re-teamed with Murphy, recommending Jax for Doyle. 

“He wants Murphy.” Doyle couldn’t believe his ears.

“So he told me.”

“ _Are_ we re-teamed?”

“As I told him, _I_ have the last and only say as to which agents are teamed with which.  I have no reason to re-think your partnership.  Except his request, for whatever reason he made it.  Do you know why he might have done so? **”** Cowley was as baffled as Doyle had ever seen him. 

“He didn't tell you?”

“If he'd explained himself properly, 4-5, would I be asking you?”

Doyle didn't know. He felt as though he'd never know anything again.  He and Bodie had been _happy_ in the morning.  They had a case that had turned hot, and wasn't that better than babysitting?  How could Bodie break off the partnership and maybe their affair without even talking to him?  He felt a fool—he felt hurt. 

When he got to Bodie, he’d _break his bloody neck._

> _Not much longer would you be mine_  
>  _Oh, I heard it through the grapevine_  
>  _And I am just about to lose my mind_  
>  _Honey honey yeah._

  


Now, here they both were, committing acts of public indecency, Bodie’s neck right there for breaking, but that wasn’t what Doyle currently had in mind. He had both hands on Bodie’s throat, the ring fingers and pinkies in his shirt collar, brushing his skin as they shook.  Bodie stared, and his eyes grew darker, his lips parted—even more fuckable than when he’d licked his lips.

“Close the door, Ray,” he said. “And take me to bed.”

“We need to talk.” Doyle was still angry, though it was hard to tell which short breaths and spikes of wild energy were lust and which were anger.

“After.” Bodie was also breathing harder, which Doyle knew because he could feel the hot air on his own face.  They were that close. 

Ray put his hand on the tent in Bodie’s khakis, felt the wet spot there, and hardened faster than he thought he could.

They had to get that door closed—get Bodie upright and moved at least a foot or so, close the door and set the locks. It shouldn’t be impossible.  Yet they stood still, vibrating, aroused, literally panting for it, for what seemed a long time.  Ray finally pulled his hand away from Bodie’s cock and growled, “Move.”  Bodie stood still for an extra second or two, clearly to let Ray know it wasn’t going to be all his way, and then did take the steps needed, shut the door and locked it.  After that, he moved toward the bedroom while half-turned toward Doyle, as if drawing a lure or coaxing a feral animal.  Granted, Ray _felt_ feral.  His jeans were not sized to carry an erection in, either.

He’d wondered, on the way, if he’d even find Bodie in the flat or if he’d just done a runner. “There a suitcase in there?”

“You wound me,” Bodie said, making his hurt-feelings face, in a way, or as well as possible while his eyes were still so wild and his mouth so wet.

Ray took longer strides and caught up with Bodie, gripped his arm and said, “You are not leaving.”

“No.” Bodie stopped, took Ray in his arms and held him close.  “I won’t lose this.”  He kissed gently, this time, and Ray let relief wash through him and carry away most of the anger, though he still meant to have that talk and get Bodie back as his partner, his willing partner on the street.

How could either of them stand to lose this connection, the way Bodie shrugged slightly, glancing at the bedside table, and Doyle knew to look in the top drawer where the four-ounce tube of K-Y jelly was? Trust Bodie to buy the bigger one.  But did he think they’d be able to do that in a month, a year, if they were only fucking and not fighting together?

 _Not now_ , Ray thought, while they both stripped and touched again. Not while Bodie was saying, “On my hands and knees?  On my side?  On my back?” and Ray was almost dizzy imagining each option.  “Over the back of the sofa?” –Ray put the hand not holding the K-Y over Bodie’s mouth to stop him. 

“You’ve done this?”

“Yeah.” Bodie’s lips shut tight on that word, so Ray decided he didn’t want to know, or not until Bodie talked about it of his own accord.

Ray had heard doggy-style was easiest on the one bottoming. “Hands and knees, then.”

Bodie’s tilted eyebrows suggested he knew why Ray had chosen it, but he didn’t seem to mind. Ray’s hands shook again as he knelt between Bodie’s calves and saw the pale expanse of his back, his shoulders working, the sweet dents at the top of his arse, the curve of his arse cheeks and the dark-furred cleft between.  Ray barely got the tube open, got lube into his hand, put a finger in, two, and all the while Bodie was telling him to come on, come on, until Ray slapped an arse cheek and said, “Let me!  You berk, shut up and let me get on with it!” and Bodie laughed.

Not sure he could get in and fuck without coming at the first stroke, Ray calmed a little as he worked to get past the strong sphincter that gripped him and pushed back no matter how much Bodie said he wanted Ray in. Rocking against Bodie’s thighs and arse, feeling him rock back, was erotic but not overwhelming.  Apparently, Bodie felt something similar, because when Ray reached around to touch his cock, it was only half-erect.  He stroked it anyway, and Bodie made sounds of approval but didn’t get any harder.  “What am I doing wrong?”

“Happens sometimes,” Bodie said. “Keep it up, my lovely fierce fucker.  Put your back into it.”

So Ray did, shifting his position a little and trying another angle, which seemed to be better given the noises Bodie started making and the way he jolted and bucked. This felt like harder work than fucking a woman, or maybe it was that Bodie didn’t lie down and take it.  They were working, together, the way they did when they sparred, working for pleasure as they worked for speed and strength.  Ray stroked Bodie’s back and his cock, banging where it made Bodie jump and moan.

The buzz began to move up Ray’s spine, down his legs, and he felt himself swell as Bodie gripped him, until his orgasm crashed through him and Bodie cried out to feel it inside. Those strong white legs spread until Bodie was flat on his stomach and Ray was laid out on top of him like a duvet.  He stroked Bodie’s arms now, shoulder to elbow, and kissed the nape of his neck.  “You get there?” he asked between kisses.

Bodie rolled on one side, and Ray slipped out of him, his cock instantly chilled. But then he could curl around and see that Bodie had not come, could slap his hands away and bend to take that longsuffering cock in his hand, get back between Bodie’s legs and take it into Ray’s mouth, where it swelled and stiffened while Bodie’s hands fisted his hair.

“Lovely … fierce … fucker,” Bodie said, hips moving. “Ray.”

Ray swirled his tongue around the head of Bodie’s cock, tried to poke it into the folds of foreskin, and Bodie said “Ray!” and came.

After a few sweaty, sated moments, Ray realized the true beauty of Bodie’s scheme to avoid talking: now both of them were too knackered to make sentences, much less argue.  They moved slowly to align themselves in the bed and draw up the covers.  Through numb lips, Ray said, “We _will_ talk, bastard,” his eyes already closing.

“I promise,” Bodie muttered.

> _I know a man ain't supposed to cry_  
>  _But these tears I can't hold inside_  
>  _Losing you would end my life you see_  
>  _Cause you mean that much to me_  
> 

In the middle of the night, Ray woke because Bodie was rolling back and forth, moving his legs as if running in a dream, and making muffled sounds of distress. “Muh,” he said urgently.  “Rr!  Ruh!”  Then he gasped and made a terrible sound between his teeth, shaking his head in the pillow.  He alternated gasps and that awful whine until Ray turned him on his back, when he snuffled as if he had a cold.  He was crying, Ray realized, weeping desperately in his sleep.  The only thing Ray could think of to do was try to quiet him.  So he stroked that short feathery hair and those wet, stubbled cheeks softly, kissed the near temple and both wet eyes, humming because he was afraid words would wake Bodie and embarrass him.

What _could_ he be dreaming of?

Bodie gave an even deeper, faster gasp and jolted in the bed, waking. Ray started, flinched back and tried to pretend he’d just woken himself, but Bodie grabbed him and held on, burrowing into Ray’s pillow.  “Ray,” he whispered, brokenly.

“I’m here.” Ray squirmed around to get his own arms around Bodie, who put his face into Ray’s chest.  Ray stroked his hair.  Bodie didn’t speak again, and his breathing gradually evened out, back into sleep.  Ray eventually drifted off too.

When he woke again, it was morning, bright sun edging through the drapes and Bodie wrapped even more tightly around him. He kissed Bodie’s forehead, and remembered how Bodie’s lips had been on Ray’s hairline when he’d admitted to asking for a re-teaming.  It was hard not to connect that foolish proposal to the nightmare that had forced tears from Bodie, who as far as Ray knew had never cried as an adult.  Ray was the one who sometimes felt his eyes sting, even leaking a tear or two when something moved him.  Bodie had never teased him about it or made any extra gesture of comfort. 

Ray thought it through, while Bodie’s exhalations brushed across his skin. Bodie was afraid—he must be terrified of something, if the emotion was coming out in his sleep this way.  And Bodie was so self-sufficient, usually, always said he didn’t count on anyone and was only out for “number one.”  Ray was the only exception.  Bodie felt strongly for Ray, obviously, given all the rest of his behaviour since they’d kissed in the safe house kitchen.  So his request to partner Murphy was not likely to be about wanting Murphy.  And his rejecting Ray as a partner was clearly not because he didn’t want Ray.  “Oh, you prat,” he said aloud.

Bodie’s breath hitched, and he said indistinctly, eyes half-open, “I think this is where you came in. With slightly less name-calling, this time.”

“Have more, if you want it.”

“Thank you very much, old son,” and Bodie had definitely woken up now, would-be-posh accent and all. “ _So_ kind, but I believe I can scrape along without.”  He turned on his back and sighed.  “We’re to the arguing part of the morning already?”

“Yesterday, I was going to ask why,” Ray said, “but now I think I know.”

“Oh, good.”

“I still don’t agree.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Nothing even _happened_ yesterday.  You can’t have been more than five seconds behind me.  Maybe ten.”

“You can empty your clip in ten seconds. So can the ones shooting at you.”  Bodie looked Ray in the eye, frowning.  “I _froze_ , Ray.  I’m no good to you as backup, doing that.  Another day, a smarter yob, you’re dead, and it’s on me.  I’d have to blow me own head off, that happens.”

Ray couldn’t hear that and not say, “No.”

“You won’t be there to stop me, will you?” Bodie’s voice was tight. 

“I will. Because none of that’s happening.  Not fucking _happening_ , Bodie.  We’re the best together, and we’ll be wheeling each other round in bath chairs in sixty years, ‘m telling you, mate.”

Bodie closed his eyes, but his mouth was set firm.

Ray frowned even though Bodie wasn’t looking. "You're the stubbornest son of a bitch I've ever known."

"Mirror, mate."

"You'll be quite all right if I'm killed while Jax is my partner, will you?"

"No, I'll kill Jax."

"Lovely." Ray watched Bodie pretend to go back to sleep, even turning on one side and pulling the duvet up onto his lower face. 

When Ray had thought of another argument, he nudged Bodie’s shoulder. Then again, harder.

Bodie sighed and sat up. “All right, all right.  What now?”

“Cast your mind back to when you were first learning to shoot.”

“When I was teaching my grandmother to suck eggs.”

“Exactly.” Ray would not be sidetracked.  “Tell me you never hesitated then.  Or when you first fought beside someone you cared about, a good mate.  Didn’t it take a moment to regroup when the ammo was live?  Or the first time you killed someone, bits of them sprayed everywhere—”

“Oh, thanks for that image.” Bodie rubbed his face.  “I think _you_ think I’m both more sensitive and more hardened than I really am.”

“You take my point, though,” Ray tilted his head. “Then you trained.  Then you got used to it.  Then you quit hesitating.”

Bodie stared at his own hands, lying in the bunched up duvet, for a while before answering. “I quit hesitating,” he agreed.  “But that was different.” 

Ray held up his hands, made a confused face.

“It wasn’t you.”

“Yes, it was. It’s been me for years.”

“It wasn’t you the day I realized I’m in love with you, and I can’t imagine you dead without wanting to kill myself, and I froze so I couldn’t cover you when some madman decided to shoot at you instead of Pat Bloody Rogers, so I’m worse than useless behind you, might as well be the newest recruit or one of the secretaries, and we’re always talking about how the criminals have all the new weapons, the best, and we’re always scrambling to catch up and I can hardly sleep, Ray, you saw, what are we going to do if we _don’t_ re-team?”  During this rant, Bodie reached out and took Ray by the shoulders, shaking him on the important words, jarring his head forward and back.  When he was through, he went on holding, bruisingly tight, staring.

Ray was smiling. He couldn’t help it.  “You’re in love with me.  You _said_ it.”

Bodie gave a kind of groan and pulled Ray to him. He kissed hard, then stopped just long enough to say, “I’m bloody _mad_ for you,” and then kissed again, long and wet, hungry and tender, bending Ray back into the bed and covering him, touching him everywhere, until Ray was hard again and Bodie could suck him until they both came.

Afterwards, while Ray’s heart was still pounding, he lay in the bedclothes and thought about how Bodie had given up his usual jokes and boasts and grins this morning, as if his naked soul were speaking. And that he, Ray Doyle, had spoken the truth but not shown those bare bones, had not risked everything.  What was _he_ afraid of?  So he dragged himself up on one elbow, leaned over Bodie and said, “I love you too,” and left off the _you pillock_ , or _you prat_ , or _you great berk_ that felt more natural.  “I need you.  We have to work this partnership out because I need you every day, not just in bed.”

Bodie’s stubborn, truthful mouth stayed shut until he kissed Ray again, and then he only kissed.

> _People say believe half of what you see_  
>  _Son and none of what you hear_  
>  _But I can't help but be confused_  
>  _If it's true please tell me dear_  
> 

They went into HQ together that afternoon. Charlie in the hallway and Betty in the outer office looked at them oddly.  Bodie’s request had evidently got round.  In Cowley’s office, Doyle formally asked for a refresher to train their reflexes for better teamwork;  Cowley looked sceptical and Bodie mutinous, but the dates were set. 

Then they worked separately, Doyle interrogating Pat and Bodie in Records. Stopping by the rest room, Doyle was ambushed by Murphy, who looked positively panic-stricken.

“Aren’t you working with Bodie any more?” he asked. “They say it’s going to be me.  That’s not true, is it?  I mean, Bodie’s all right, but I’ve only been teamed with him for short periods, and you remember how that chimney climb worked out.”

Doyle grinned at him, and could tell by Murphy’s reaction that he didn’t think it was a nice grin.

“Nah, mate, don’t worry,” he said, “just a rumour.”

> _Don't you know I heard it through the grapevine_  
>  _Ooh, ooh, I heard it through the grapevine_  
>  _Honey, honey, yeah_  
> 


End file.
